


the end and the beginning

by vvelna



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M, POV First Person, POV Original Character, just what everyone wants in a phanfic, yes this is told from the point of view of an alien fetus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvelna/pseuds/vvelna
Summary: A pregnant Phil searches for Dan in the wake of an apocalyptic disaster. Told from the point of view of his unearthly fetus.





	the end and the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> this is another bingo fic. the prompts were "apocalypse" and "pregnancy."

I call him my mother. I was implanted in him, and he is the one who carries me. A place in his brain connects to a place in mine—a mental umbilical cord that links our senses. I see what he sees, hear what he hears. I feel what he feels. We hurt together.

The epicenter of the blast was far from us, but not far enough to save our city’s infrastructure. Buildings crumbled into powder like chalk crushed in giant hands. Some beams and bricks remain, like broken blades of grass amongst piles of pebbles. The streets are littered with the detritus of mundane human experience—a sea of paper scraps, electronics and appliances battered and stripped of their usefulness, wood furniture reduced to splinters, and upholstery split and bursting, its foam guts strewn everywhere.

Most plentiful of all is the glass. The boom shattered all of it. Although the sky is tainted with a thick, grey film, the world below remains sharp and glittering.

Dan. We are looking for Dan. I shift in my mother’s belly, trying to get comfortable. He is limping and the pain in his leg translates into a dull ache pulsing throughout my small body. We pass strangers and neighbors wandering in search of their own people. There is screaming but no sirens. It seems no one is coming to help us; maybe the helpers are in need of help themselves.

We pass the shell of a coffee shop, incongruously intact though its neighbors have buckled. My mother is hungry and tired. Scared. This is the place he discussed with Dan, when they were making plans for if the worst happened. He limps inside, stumbling over debris. Once behind the counter, he sinks to the ground. I’m attuned to the physical sensations he’s experiencing, but his emotions are slightly vaguer. There’s something obscuring them so that only the most primal bleed through; the fear and desperation are at the forefront. Dan. We need to find Dan. If we can find Dan, everything will be alright. If we can’t, nothing will ever be alright again.

I think he knows, somewhere in his mind, that the world is ending, and—Dan or no Dan—things will never be the same. But he can’t face it alone. I forgive him for forgetting that I’m here. I know it’s not the same.

He runs his hand absently over the swell of his belly, and I take the opportunity to remind him of my presence by administering a kick to his ribs. He draws a sharp breath, and I worry I may have overdid it.

He collects himself and stands up, opens what remains of a drinks refrigerator. Its glass door has shattered and the light’s gone out, but all he needs is a dust-covered bottle of water. His fingers shake as he struggles to open it. The plastic finally parts and he tosses the cap to the ground. In his haste to drink as much water as possible as quickly as he can, he chokes and coughs half of it back up.

It’s getting dark out. The sharp corners and shapes occupying the coffee shop lose definition. They give up their former identities as specific items with precise purposes. My mother pushes through a swinging door into a stockroom. Glass crunches underfoot. Shelves have collapsed and boxes pile haphazardly. The floor is flooded with liquid drying tacky; it sticks to the soles of his shoes. There’s a shelving unit leaning against a wall in a corner, making a little nook.

He approaches it, drops to his hands and knees, and wedges himself into the small space like an animal looking for a place to die. But he’s not dying, not yet. I can feel the strength of his heart pumping blood through veins and arteries, and his lungs doing their best despite the fine powder of dust that permeates the air, and the invisible particulates poisoning everything.

My world goes dark when he closes his eyes and falls asleep, but I can still hear and feel. There are no more screams, but unidentifiable sounds fade in and out in the distance. I float, awake for some time. I’m inside him and he is inside the tight space between the shelf and the wall, both of us nestled in the safest place currently available.

*

I wake up in motion. My mother has risen before me—which is unusual—and is pacing around behind the counter. We’re still in the coffee shop. I don’t know what time it is or how long I was unconscious. Everything is dim; only the feeblest rays of sunlight now reach the surface.

I feel disoriented and can’t get my bearings. I must be upside-down. I try to shift myself around inside him but I feel out of place no matter which direction I turn. My quarters have shrunk, and I butt up against slick walls. When I try to stretch out my legs I push into these walls, and my mother whimpers in pain, so I curl up as small as I can and stop moving.

Then I realize the most frightening thing—I heard his noise of pain, but there was no physical sensation to accompany it. I can’t feel the firmness of the floor beneath his feet, or the temperature of the air, or if the pain in his leg has increased. (The limp certainly has; he grips the counter as he moves back and forth.) I’ve lost one of my links to his senses.

Are we dying? Am I dying? I feel fear, and for the first time it is wholly my own emotion.

And then everything goes dark. I think he must have closed his eyes, but the darkness persists, and he keeps pacing. I’ve lost another sense. I panic. I stretch out my arms and legs and push, not caring anymore what pain or damage it may cause. His body is too small. It’s a warm, wet coffin. It’s going to suffocate me, crush me. I need to get out.

“I’m back!” a voice calls out, and there’s a crunching of footsteps across the floor. “I couldn’t find any—oh, shit, Phil!”

“It—hurts—it really—fucking—hurts.” My mother speaks through gritted teeth, gasping between each word.

“Do you want to sit down?” The voice shakes. I recognize it but can’t put a name to it.

It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting out. My world is ending. I need to escape before it’s too late.

“No—I don’t want to—fucking sit—I want to— _oh god_.”

“Okay, okay, okay, you’re alright, just—”

“Please—don’t leave—”

“I’m right here.”

A great fist is squeezing me. I try to wriggle free of its grasp, but I can’t. Despite the darkness, pulses of color saturate my mind—deep violets, violent reds, and sickly, pale yellows. His sobs shake my world. The safety and security I’ve been cocooned within is crumbling. A grey fog overtakes me. The voices fade in and out. Pink starts to burn through the grey.

There’s a sudden chill, and then I’m falling into large, warm hands.

I open my mouth and draw my first breath. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! feel free to let me know what you think they should name the baby, but don't say susan or any of their wretched sims character names. 
> 
> [ reblog/like on tumblr ](https://velvetnautilus.tumblr.com/private/178939144530/tumblr_pgf2fwVyEe1wm9q5f)


End file.
